


A Safe Place

by ang04e



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-07-11 09:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7042690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang04e/pseuds/ang04e
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her new movie is generating Oscar buzz, and she's the top box office draw of the year. From the outside, Lexa is at the peak of her career when she meets her new bodyguard, Clarke Griffin. But the truth is, her world has been spinning since her terrifying encounter with a stalker. </p><p>Clarke's job is to keep Lexa safe. But the truth is, she'd protect Lexa with her life even if it wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Start

**“The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” ― Maya Angelou, All God's Children Need Traveling Shoes**

 

Lexa lets out a deep, shaky sigh as she slumps into her pristine lily-white sofa.  Her head is pounding thanks to the insane amount of flashbulbs she endured on the short walk from the hotel to the town car waiting to whisk her home. The sanctuary of her own living room is a welcome departure from the bustling press junket where she had just spent the better part of two days. She hates press junkets. Everyone always asks the same stupid questions that don’t actually have anything to do with her work, and she’s forced to give the same canned answers with a smile.

 

_Are you seeing anyone? Not at the moment._

_Which one of your many leading men is the best kisser? Oh, you know I don’t kiss and tell._

_What do you look for in your ideal man? Well, who says I’m looking?_

If she didn’t love acting so much, Lexa would quit just to avoid sitting in those interviews across from overeager members of the media. It’s awkward and taxing, especially for someone as reserved and private as Lexa.  

 

Seconds after flopping down on the couch, Lexa is already drifting off, her chin tucked tightly to her chest.  Her eyelids flutter lightly and her breathing slows, when her peace and quiet is shattered by a vibration in her pocket. _Fuck, Anya. What is it now._

**Anya (9:03 p.m.):**   Just a friendly reminder, your new bodyguard starts tomorrow. You’re due on the red carpet at 8, so I’ll be there with the newbie at 7 to pick you up. Traffic will be a bitch. ILY!

 

A wave of annoyance sweeps over Lexa’s normally soft face, but surprisingly not at the thought of her movie premiere, or god-awful LA Traffic she likes to call the ninth circle of hell. The idea of meeting someone new and letting them into her daily life tops her list of unpleasant experiences.  People always harbor expectations about what Lexa will be like, and for some reason Lexa feels pressured to be the public version of herself anytime they are around –especially new people.  The only person she feels free around is her personal assistant- and sister - Anya.  As the older (and, according to Lexa, bossier) sister, Anya fits well in the role of protector and official organizer of Lexa’s hectic life. The truth is, Lexa is organized, fiercely independent, and competent – so much so that a personal assistant is probably unnecessary – but Lexa just _needs_ her sister. Anya’s presence calms Lexa - not that she’d _ever_ admit it.

 

Thinking of the new person soon to invade her world, Lexa’s stomach churns. The issue of bodyguards is a sore subject ever since she asked Anya to politely fire the last one. She’d caught him drinking on the job – behavior which Lexa found inappropriate and dangerous. She needs to feel safe, especially now. Especially after Titus. Her shoulders shudder at the thought of the man who had terrorized her for the better part of a year.

 

She stands up to shuffle towards her bedroom, barely picking up her feet so that her socks skim noiselessly along the wooden floors. As Lexa meanders, she opens her twitter account, ignoring the thousands of notifications pouring in despite the fact that she hasn’t tweeted in weeks.

 

 **@LexaFromTheMovies** : Had a great time doing interviews for the new film. Can’t wait for you all to see it!  See you at the premiere tomorrow xoxo.

 

* * *

 

Normally Clarke would stick with her favorite black leather jacket and ripped jeans. While she’s serious about her job, she prefers to be comfortable while doing it. Not to mention she looks hot in leather and she knows it.  Unfortunately for her style preferences, Clarke was explicitly instructed to dress up for the premiere and she isn’t about to fuck up on her first day. Clarke’s fingers shake as she tries to button up her black blazer – her shoulder holster protruding ever so slightly from her slim, muscular silhouette. Lexa is the highest profile celebrity she’s ever been assigned, so she silently blames the nerves on the bigger and more aggressive crowds she’d soon face.  Clarke vigorously nods, as if to shake her nerves away, her soft blonde waves falling on the collar of her blazer. _You can do this. No reason to be nervous. She’s just another actress._ Clarke reaches into her front pants pocket and takes out her phone.  She immediately notices a text from Raven, and she’s not surprised by it.  Raven texts incessantly.

 

 **Raven (6:12 p.m.):** Good luck, Griffster. If I don’t see you in any red carpet photos online, I’m gonna be pissed.  I’ve always wanted a famous friend.

Clarke slips out her front door without replying.  Raven can wait, and Clarke has somewhere to be.  After a short drive, Clarke finds herself following Anya through a huge Hollywood Hills home. Clarke’s head is on a swivel, dutifully admiring the gorgeous furniture while also pretending not to be impressed.  Lexa definitely has the best taste out of all of Clarke’s bosses.  There’s nothing tacky or gaudy about her home, but Lexa clearly takes great pride in it.  Unlike some Hollywood houses, this is obviously a home.  A National Geographic magazine lays open on the couch next to an ivory cashmere throw, and a plate of homemade muffins sits on the kitchen island.  Fresh flowers spill from every corner – gladiolas, hydrangeas, and calla lilies. Clarke inhales deeply, the sweet aroma pleasant but not overwhelming. Clarke likes it here already.

 

Anya begins talking frantically, obviously flustered.  “Look, Clarke. When I picked you from the list of recommended personnel, I pictured a big burly dude. Imagine my surprise when you show up looking like some ripped Crossfit Barbie. Now I don’t have time to get someone else before the premiere, so I’m taking a chance on you – don’t make me regret it.”

 

Anya pauses to take a deep breath before continuing on to business talk.

 

“Obviously your job is primarily security. But when I’m not around you may be needed to run errands, drive her places, or grab coffee, things like that.” Clarke nods knowingly.  This wouldn’t be the first time she’d do such things. The lines between job roles tend to get blurred when you’re around a person all day every day. Her last boss even had her picking up kids from daycare and doing laundry.

 

Anya stops talking abruptly when they reach large French doors, her demeanor instantly softening.  Anya knocked gently before pushing the doors open just enough to peek inside.

 

“Lexa, are you decent?”

 

“Yes, you nerd! But what do you care? You did change my diapers as you so frequently like to remind…oh!” Lexa’s face instantly flushes crimson as she sees Anya isn’t alone. Lexa notices her piercing icy blue eyes before anything else, and has to fight the urge to audibly gasp in surprise.  One, she is shocked her new security guard is a woman. Two, she is a _stunning_ woman.

 

 Clarke’s eyes widen as she steps into the room, eyes immediately drawn to the woman in front of a full length mirror.  Lexa stands in a shimmery green dress with a low scoop neck, the fabric hugging every tight curve of her body.  Her auburn hair is swept to one side in soft waves, framing her dark green eyes – eyes that are wide and fixated on Clarke.  Eager to break the awkward silence, Clarke confidently walks towards Lexa, extending her hand towards the brunette. 

 

“Good afternoon, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Clarke, your new security.”  As she smiles, Clarke’s tongue pokes ever so slightly through her teeth. A nervous habit that Lexa immediately notices, and immediately loves.  

 

Lexa is so busy staring and sorting through her many thoughts about the woman standing in front of her that she doesn’t move to greet her.  Lexa snaps back to attention when she notices the Clarke’s face fall in confusion. 

 

“I-I’m sorry. I mean – I just- I wasn’t expecting a woman. I mean. God, I’m sorry. You must think I’m terribly rude.” Lexa shakes Clarke’s hand with too much enthusiasm to make up for her faux pas.  The firm grip makes Clarke smile. There’s nothing she hates more than a weak handshake.

 

Lexa shakes her head. “Ok. Um. Clarke, you said?”

 

“Yes ma’am.”

 

“Nice to meet you, please call me Lexa. I do hope you’re prepared for tonight, it should be a well attended premiere.” She looks serious, but her tone says otherwise.  

 

“Yes, of course ma’am.” She sees Lexa flinch and corrects herself.  “Lexa, shi – um, sorry. I’ll get used to it.” Lexa grins at the slip, knowing they’ll get along just fine.

 

“Welcome, Clarke. I am glad to have you here.  Anya will be able to answer any questions you may have and show you around if needed. I’ll be ready to leave in just a moment. Anya? Can you please see if the car service is ready?”

 

Lexa turns back to the mirror, checking her hair and makeup for the hundredth time, gently brushing her hair from her eyes.  She isn’t vain, or obsessed with her looks.  On the contrary. She’s self conscious and always feels that there’s something to be fixed, a fact which annoys Anya to no end. Lexa laughs silently, remembering Anya yelling at her while getting ready for the last premiere. _For God’s sake Lexa, you look fine! You were voted Sexiest Woman Alive last year, you could show up in pajamas and no one would give a shit!_ Lexa takes a deep breath as she turns away from the mirror, catching Clarke’s eyes on her before they quickly flutter elsewhere.

 

***

 

Clarke sits stiffly in the passenger seat of the town car with Lexa and Anya in the backseat.  Her arms crossed across her chest, Clarke keeps catching herself peeking at Lexa in the rearview mirror.  She can’t help it. Luckily, Lexa is so nervous, it doesn’t register with her. She’s too busy staring at her wringing hands on her lap.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay? this _is_ your first big event since – you know. Since Titus was released.”

 

Lexa groans, and quickly turns to face Anya. “I’m fine. It’s fine. Can we talk about something else?” She fights to maintain composure but her trembling hands betray her.  She doesn’t want to think about him. About how she could have died. She never wants to hear his name again.

 

Clarke’s eyebrows furrow as she listens to the conversation, intent on figuring out exactly what type of situation she’s walked into.  It seems to be more than she bargained for.  Anya says nothing else about it, knowing that now isn’t the time.

 

The car pulls in front of the red carpet entrance, and Clarke quickly gets out and opens the rear door for Lexa.  Clarke senses Lexa’s reticence, and reaches for her hand to help her out of the car.  The gesture catches Lexa off guard, but she takes Clarke’s hand anyway.  She’s probably just being polite.

 

Lexa is already beaming widely for the cameras, but small tear rests in the corner of Lexa’s eye. Clarke is surprised by how vulnerable the most powerful actress in America looks standing in front of her now.  Clarke already knows that she will do anything to protect Lexa. _Anything._

 

Though she would never be able to articulate why, Clarke is absolutely desperate to comfort the woman standing in front of her. Not in a patronizing way, but in real, meaningful way.   She looks at Lexa intently and squeezes her hand softly. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. I’m here.”

 

 For a brief second, Lexa forgets her crippling fear and steps forward onto the carpet to meet the army of flashbulbs and screaming fans. Clarke’s hand effortlessly finds a resting place on Lexa’s arm, gently guiding along her as they walk.  Lexa is surprised, but tries not to show it.  It’s not often people touch her like that. People are either too afraid to touch her, or manhandle her like she's a display product.

 

The chorus of screams is deafening. Each person screaming for Lexa as she shuffles past, signing as many autographs as she can manage.  Other actors shuffle past quickly, but not her.  Lexa is legendary for being dragged off by staff for signing autographs or taking photographs for too long. It’s the least she can do.  As she’s escorted further down the carpet, she shouts to as many people as she can. “Thank you all so much for coming…I love you guys too!”

 

Just before reaching the beginning of the press line, Lexa turns to Clark, her perfect façade fading ever so slightly. “Thank you…Clarke.”

 

Lexa hates watching her own movies. She can’t stand the sound of her own voice and critiques herself relentlessly.  But this time she’s not paying attention for another reason.  She can’t stop thinking about how someone she just met already seemed to pick up on exactly what she needed.   Clarke wasn’t intimidated by her, and didn’t treat her like everyone else. Like she’s someone to be fawned over, or something fragile that must only be looked at from a distance. Clarke was just there. Clarke seemed to understand her without a single word.  

 

***

 

“So, how was it Clarke? Tell me everything!”

 

“It was fine, Raven. Just another day at the office.”

 

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.  You’re working for the most famous actress in the world and you went to the premiere of a movie getting Oscar buzz. I want details bitch!”

 

“Well. I can’t lie. She looks amazing in person. I’m not even sure she’s human.”

 

“No shit, Sherlock! She’s a total babe. So she must be a complete bitch, obvi.”

 

“Raven, come on. She’s actually really polite…a little formal maybe. And I don’t know…she seems almost too nice for this business.”

 

“Clarke. Oh. My. God…You like her!”

 

A small yelp of surprise escapes Clarke before she can swallow it. “What? NO. She’s my boss, Raven. Don’t be ridiculous. You know I take my job seriously. Plus, I barely know her!” The line briefly cuts out.

 

“Shit. O is calling on the other line, I better go.  Don’t think you’re getting out of the rest of this conversation. You’re gonna spill the beans even if I have to liquor you up.” 

 

The line clicks, and Clarke throws her phone onto her bed, rolling her eyes. Raven can be such a jackass. A lovable jackass, but a jackass nonetheless.

 

Raven isn’t wrong.  Lexa is beautiful. Hell, she’s the most beautiful woman Clarke has ever seen.  But she’s the boss.  Clarke knows thinking of her as anything else would be inappropriate, and potentially even dangerous – for Lexa’s safety _and_ Clarke’s paycheck.  Clarke climbs into bed still thinking of those green eyes and that green dress.

 

***

 

Lexa sips from her second cup of coffee while flipping through the paper as she does every morning. She sets the mug gently on the table and her hand resumes nervously fiddling with the sleeve of her cardigan.  Normally she avoids reading anything about herself, but the picture accompanying the critic’s review of Mount Weather catches her eye.  _Clarke._

 

In the photo, Clarke stands close enough to do her job effectively, but far enough away that the photographers don’t mistake her for a date. Her hand still hovers closely over Lexa’s arm, as if ready to reassure her at any second.  Clarke’s eyes aren’t looking at the cameras. She’s focused on Lexa, as if she was the only one there.  She’s not phased by the circus around her at all.  Lexa lets a small smile escape her mouth, remembering how safe she felt with Clarke next to her.  Even though she just met her, she knows Clarke is different. Clarke is special.  Lexa snatches her phone off the table, sending a message quickly before she has a chance to change her mind.

 

***

 

Clarke’s stomach flips when she see’s her phone light up with Lexa’s name. Her text is formal, just as Clarke expects.  What Clarke doesn’t expect is a lunch invite.

 

 **Lexa Woods (9:26 a.m.):** Hello Clarke, it’s Lexa Woods.  I wanted to see if you were available for lunch at noon. I’d like to get to know you a little better, and we need to talk. About Titus.

 

Clarke suddenly remembers the conversation she overheard in the car.  _Titus. Who the fuck is Titus?_ She opens the internet browser on her phone, typing furiously in the search bar.  The first result is nothing like she expected.

 

LOCAL MAN ARRESTED FOR ATTEMPTED KIDNAPPING OF ACTRESS LEXA WOODS

 

“Holy shit” Clarke whispers to herself.  Her mind swimming with questions, she reaches her hand to her temple, massaging it in circles. She’s now in the deep end with this job. In more ways than one. 


	2. The Telling of Many Truths

**“What is home? My favorite definition is "a safe place," a place where one is free from attack, a place where one experiences secure relationships and affirmation. It's a place where people share and understand each other. Its relationships are nurturing. The people in it do not need to be perfect; instead, they need to be honest, loving, supportive, recognizing a common humanity that makes all of us vulnerable.” ― Gladys M. Hunt**

Clarke is still surprised that Lexa suggested Trikru, a grungy place on the edge of town. It doesn’t seem like her style…or at least the style of the typical Hollywood actress. But she already knows Lexa isn’t typical.  A typical actress doesn’t text her own employees to ask them out to lunch on a Saturday.  After briefly stopping at the door to adjust her wild waves of blonde hair, Clarke walks into the dark pub, her eyes automatically scanning the room for Lexa.

 She spots her in the back corner hunched over a beer. Lexa mindlessly fiddles with the edge of her yellow cardigan, and runs her hand over her floral skirt to smooth it. She’s so busy swimming in her own thoughts she doesn’t even notice Clarke approaching. 

Lexa isn’t sure why she ordered the beer.  That’s a lie.  The truth is she ordered it because she’s nervous. It’s why she’s nervous that she isn’t sure about. This is just Clarke, her employee. Lexa stares at her outfit, feeling overdressed. What kind of weirdo wears a cardigan and a dress to a pub? She should have worn jeans. She likes them better anyway, since she hardly ever gets to wear them.

“I didn’t figure you for a beer girl. Champagne maybe.” A smile is detectable in Clarke’s voice.

 Lexa jumps slightly, snapping back to attention. Clarke is standing on the other side of the table dressed head to toe in black, with motorcycle boots that go almost to her knees.  A silver necklace drapes along her v-neck t-shirt, holding a large men’s wedding band that falls just at her cleavage. Clarke’s shirt dips low enough that the freckles at the top of her breasts catch Lexa’s eyes as they scan on the way up to Clarke’s face.

Lexa stands, almost tripping on her chair as she fumbles to rise quickly. She extends her hand towards Clarke, immediately wishing she hadn’t. She just has to go and make everything awkward all the time.  Luckily, Clarke doesn’t seem phased, and shakes Lexa’s hand enthusiastically. Lexa is pleasantly surprised at how soft Clarke’s hands are. She seems like someone who would have calloused hands and be proud of them.  

“Hi, Clarke. Thanks for coming. I took the liberty of ordering you a beer as well since you’re not on the clock, I hope you don’t mind. Are you hungry? I ordered the chips and salsa to start. They have great salsa here…spicy, but not enough to make your nose run.”

Lexa’s eyes peek up at Clarke, almost begging her to put an end to her embarrassing word vomit. As usual, it’s as if Clarke can tell exactly what Lexa needs, as she quickly moves to fill the silence with her breathy laughter. 

“Of course, thanks, Lexa. I appreciate the invite. And Revolver Blood & Honey? You have good taste.”  Clarke beams at Lexa with a reassuring nod, flicking the pint glass bearing the name of her favorite beer. Clarke takes the seat next to Lexa rather than the one across the table. A decision that Lexa notices but tries not to overanalyze. 

After taking a long first sip from her beer, Clarke clears her throat and breaks the silence yet again.  “I’m kind of surprised there isn’t a line around the block to take photos with you. I didn’t think you could go anywhere without a circus following.”

Lexa smiles, almost sadly. “My friend Lincoln owns the place and he’d never call the paparazzi. He keeps a close eye on everything to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand.  And I’m in here just often enough that the regulars don’t even notice me anymore. It’s nice.”

“That’s great you have a chill public place to go to. I’m sure everything gets overwhelming sometimes. No offense, but your life seems like a perpetual clusterfuck of people.”

Lexa doubles over, laughing so hard she almost knocks over her beer.  To Clarke, her hearty laugh sounds like the best song she’s never heard.  Lexa is still laughing and clutching her stomach as she responds.  “I’ve never described it that way, but yeah. A perpetual clusterfuck sounds about right. I can’t complain though. I get paid to do what I love. I don’t have to worry about a lot of difficult things that other people do.”  Eager to change the subject away from her life, Lexa asks Clarke to tell her about herself.

Clarke isn’t sure why an actress with an infinitely more interesting life could possibly want to know more about her. Clarke’s life is surely boring by comparison, but she obliges anyway.  In fact, for some reason she tells Lexa more than she intends to. More than most people know about her, except for maybe Raven, Octavia, and her own mother.  Clarke tells her about growing up in California, the daughter of a doctor and a cop.  About how everything she ever did – or didn’t do – was because she’d rather die than disappoint her parents.  She tells Lexa about following her father’s footsteps and becoming a police officer.  About how proud it made him, and how happy it made her.

Lexa eagerly interrupts, excited to know more. “Well, how did you end up working for the private security firm you’re with now if you love police work so much?”

Clarke’s voice waivers.  “I uh - I quit after my dad was killed in the line of duty a week before his retirement.” Clarke mindlessly fumbles with the ring around her neck – something she does every single time she talks about her father. It’s her way of grounding herself so she doesn’t slip too far into the grief that’s always just below the surface.

Lexa’s hand reaches towards Clarke, though she’s unsure of its ultimate destination or whether her touch is even welcome.  After the briefest of hesitations, it finds a resting place on top of Clarke’s hand on the table.  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to….”

Clarke sniffles sharply, steeling her face against the tears that threaten to fall.  “No, no, it’s fine don’t worry. I quit after that because I just couldn’t do it to my mom anymore.  She was such a mess that she couldn’t handle worrying about me and whether I’d come home every day. It was too much.”

Lexa says nothing, but her thumb gently moves in circles on the top of Clarke’s hand. She can’t help herself.  Clarke’s commitment to her mother is a foreign concept for Lexa, but she admires it all the same. Lexa isn’t sure she could give anything up for her mother…she certainly didn’t give up much for Lexa.  But Clarke gave up everything she had ever wanted without being asked just so her mom could make it through each day.  She gives Clarke’s hand a brief squeeze, unsure of what to say since she’s too embarrassed to say what she’s thinking – that Clarke is the most unselfish and caring person she’s ever met.  

Even though every bone in her body wants to avoid talking about her father, Clarke tells Lexa all about his stupid dad jokes, his ridiculous love of coffee that made him an insufferable coffee snob, and how much he loved Clarke’s mother. God, he loved her…they were disgusting, actually. But Clarke would give anything to accidentally walk in on them making out on the couch again. Even if it meant all kinds of expensive therapy for the rest of her mentally scarred life. She just wants him back.

Clarke abruptly feels uncomfortable with how long she’s been talking. She looks to Lexa, expecting her to look annoyed or bored. Instead, Lexa looks at her with kind eyes, as if searching for the right thing to do or say. Lexa is only good with scripted lines. Unscripted ones, not so much. Once when a boy in high school had confessed his love for her, she ended up muttering something about the cafeteria serving chicken fried steak for lunch and running away. Anya still brings that moment up from time to time.

Clarke blinks rapidly.  “Anyway, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to talk your ear off.  And Jesus H. Christ, such a depressing subject at that. You can’t take me anywhere.”  Clarke laughs loudly. Too loud. Her usual response to strong emotions is to make a joke or two. Nothing can hurt you if you don’t let it. 

Clarke continues. “Besides, we came here to talk about _you_ , not me.”

While she is eager to change the subject to something that doesn’t hurt Clarke to talk about, Lexa still isn’t ready to talk about Titus.  Really, she’ll never be ready.  Lexa rolls her eyes ever so slightly. “I have to talk about myself so much, that sometimes I get sick of the sound of my own voice. It’s nice to listen for once. Thank you, Clarke.”

Clarke whispers in an almost apologetic fashion. “I know it’s difficult. But please tell me about Titus. I need to know _everything_ so I can keep you safe.”

Lexa takes a ragged breath and begins to tell the story she hates and avoids so much it has almost ceased to be hers. She begins by telling Clarke about the tweets - harmless at first, then increasingly angrier and more irrational. Hundreds a day. Then came the letters.  So many letters.

“He’d write things like, _if I can’t have you, no one else can_. He’d call me terrible things…slut, whore, bitch, every hurtful thing you can imagine. I’d never even met him before.” Lexa’s bottom lip quivers as she struggles to contain the fear in her voice. 

Clarke’s eyes widen with each word that leaves Lexa’s mouth.  She moves her hand from its position underneath Lexa’s to place it between Lexa’s shoulders.  Clarke rubs her hand back and forth softly – both to comfort Lexa and to distract herself the simmering rage bubbling up in her own chest.  Clarke feels sick at the thought of someone hurting Lexa.

“He actually showed up at my house twice, but I asked Anya to drop the criminal trespass charges and the restraining order.  I wanted to see him get the help he needed, so I paid for an inpatient facility. I was trying to do something good, but it backfired.  He was able to sign himself out of the hospital three days after going in.  A few weeks later, he followed me home. From this very place actually.”

Clarke’s subtle gasp of surprise makes Lexa wince.  “I hate that Lincoln still blames himself...that’s kind of why I still come here a lot. I need him to know its not his fault.”

Clarke’s whole body is buzzing as she listens to Lexa explain what happened after Titus climbed over her fence and kicked down her door that night.  He had screamed incoherently, striking her repeatedly, and tried to drag her outside to his van. The longer Lexa talks, the tighter Clarke’s jaw muscles clench. She grinds her teeth in an effort to allow Lexa to continue without interruption from her.

“The only reason I’m still here is Anya.  She had stopped by to go over the week’s schedule and noticed things didn’t look right.  She called the cops right away because she just knew...she saved me.” Lexa’s shoulders heave with her uneven breathing, as she tries desperately not to cry.

Clarke is whispering, but her voice is angry and strong.  “I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear to you, Lexa.” She gathers Lexa into her arms, not caring whether it’s appropriate to hug her new boss.  Clarke takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Lexa’s coconut shampoo.  She delicately runs her fingers through the tips of Lexa’s curls, silently vowing not to let her down like she had her father.   

***

Later that night, Clarke is at a different bar with different company, but her mind is still on the petite brunette and their lengthy goodbye hug that sent sparks through her body.

Octavia slams down her shot glass, staring angrily at Clarke sitting on the stool next to her.  “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK CLARKE? You’re working for Lexa goddamn Woods, and I have to hear about it from my girlfriend?” She continues yelling while motioning for the bartender to bring the three women another round of Patrón.

“Octavia. Calm down. I was going to tell you. Things have just been a bit crazy.”

“I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me Clarke! You should have seen the shit eating grin on Raven’s face when she realized she knew something I didn’t.”  

Clarke nods, looking over at Raven, who happens to be wearing the very same shit eating grin at this very moment. Raven loves to be in on the gossip, and often pressures Clarke to reveal secrets of the people she works for.  Once she had plied Clarke with alcoholic beverages in an attempt to find out whether an actress from a TV show she liked was gay.   Clarke withstood the barrage of booze and Raven still holds her silence against her.

“Babe, don’t be mad at Clarke. I practically hounded her to death until she told me. You know how annoying I can be.” Raven slips her arm around Octavia’s waist, scooting her stool close enough to steal a kiss on the cheek.

Octavia just rolls her eyes.  Pretending to be annoyed at her girlfriend is her favorite hobby.  Though if anyone else insults Raven, they should prepare for a flying fist to the face from Octavia. Just last month, a guy called Raven ugly after she politely declined his advances.  He was out cold before his body hit the floor.

Turning to Clarke, she adopts a serious expression.  “You know, Jake would flip. He loved that one movie of hers. The first one…what was it?”

“Ice Nation.” Clarke answers without any thought.  Her father had seen that movie so many times that he’d say all the lines before the characters did.  That led to a moratorium on watching the movie in the Griffin household – Clarke and Abby couldn’t stand Jake’s couch performance anymore.  Clarke hasn’t seen that movie since her father died, and she’s not sure she can watch it ever again.  She can’t even think about the movie without picturing her dad’s huge grin as he watched the action unfold, even though he knew damn well what would happen.

Octavia notices the far off look in Clarke’s eyes, and immediately feels guilty for bringing it up.  “Sorry, Clarke. I just think about him sometimes.”

“Octavia. It’s okay, really. I’m glad you remember him too. Sometimes I feel like the only one.”

Raven butts in. “Alright Clarke, the third round of shots is here. Drink up so I can quiz you about Hottie McBoss Pants!”

“Hottie McBoss Pants? Jesus how old ARE you?” Clarke scoffs, but drinks the shot in front of her anyway. She likes the feeling of the tequila burning in her stomach.  It helps her forget the ache in her chest, and reminds her of the warmth of Lexa’s embrace.

***

Clarke opens the door to Lexa’s house slowly, carefully trying to balance a heavy Starbucks drink tray in her free hand. Yanking the keys from the lock, she shuts the door behind her, immediately locking the multitude of deadbolts.  The security system beeps loudly as it does anytime a door opens or closes. Anya had helped Lexa pick out a top of the line system after the incident.  Now the house is an orchestra of different beeps. It’s music to Lexa’s ears.

“Morning Lex! I brought your favorite!”

Over the last few weeks she’s learned a lot about what Lexa likes - her coffee order, her favorite flower arrangement, her preferred breakfast, even the Netflix shows she’s currently binging.  They’re all nature and history documentaries of course. Clarke surreptitiously soaks up tidbits of information about Lexa like a sponge, wanting to know everything there is to know.   She learns about Lexa’s strained relationship with her parents, who seem to care more about Lexa’s money than Lexa.  Clarke wonders how Lexa is so well adjusted after hearing stories about her growing up with Anya as her main caregiver, their parents too busy with their own lives to pay the kids any mind.

Even on days when she isn’t really needed, Clarke ventures to Lexa’s to keep her company. She likes being part of her daily routine and keeping her company. They even started working out together. Lexa has a physically demanding movie role coming up, and Clarke is giving her a few pointers in the gym.

A muffled voice from the kitchen tells Clarke Lexa’s in the kitchen.   The smell of warm bread permeates the air. 

“Morning! Do you want some avocado on sourdough toast? I got these great avocados at the farmer’s market.”

Clarke nods, even though she feels slightly weird about a movie star serving her breakfast.  

She hands Lexa her coffee. “Iced americano, two splendas.”

“A venti too. You know me so well already.”

“Well, I did hear you tell Anya that talls and grandes were for wusses.”

“So I did, Clarke. So I did.” Lexa giggles, remembering her vigorous argument in favor of venti frappucinos when Anya declined one due to the high calorie count.  

Clarke loves to make Lexa laugh, because she gently closes her eyes every. single. time.  It allows Clarke to shamelessly admire her – everything from her brilliant toothy grin to her impossibly long eyelashes.

During their time together, Lexa has picked up just as much information about Clarke, if not more. She asks about her friends, and knows each of their names. She knows Raven is the smart ass who cares way more than she ever lets on, and Octavia is the pragmatic and fiercely loyal one who always tries to protect who and what she loves.  The are only two subjects Lexa is careful to avoid – Jake Griffin, and Clarke’s dating life. Lexa isn’t sure whether she wants to know if there is someone special in Clarke’s life. She doesn’t want there to be.

Clarke crunches into the toast, letting out a satisfied moan at the taste.  Lexa makes avocado toast just like she likes it – pepper and lime juice.

Lexa interrupts Clarke’s mouthgasm to address more practical matters. “Hey, I need your help today.”

Clarke looks up from her toast and surprisingly stops shoveling it in her mouth long enough to respond.  “Sure, what’s up?”

“I’ve got an entire rack of designer gowns upstairs to decide between for the ceremony. I um - I don’t trust Anya’s taste. If she helps me decide, I’ll show up in an infamous swan dress or something worse.”

Clarke nods in agreement. She’s seen some of the crazy shit Anya tries to pass as fashion.

“Oh FU – crap! I forgot the Oscars were this weekend. Hell yes, let’s see these gowns.” She claps her hands together, ready to head upstairs.

Lexa looks at Clarke, squinting her eyes narrowly. “Clarke?”

“What?”

Lexa reaches her thumb up to Clarke’s mouth to wipe away a lump of avocado that remains. Clarke leans into her touch without meaning to. Lexa’s delicate fingers burn like fire on her lips.

“Wash your hands first, please. I don’t want to have to explain to Dolce & Gabanna or Badgley Mischka why there’s a green stain on their precious dress.” Lexa winks as she turns to leave the kitchen and saunters toward the staircase, hips swaying back and forth like their own invitation to follow. Clarke stays with her feet plastered to the ground, catching her breath. Exhaling with a smile, she reaches to touch the same spot on her lips.

***

As she walks in the master suite, Clarke is staring at her feet. It isn’t until she’s right in front of her that she realizes that Lexa is half naked. More than half naked. 95% naked. She stands in a black thong, arms above her head with a red dress around her shoulders as the tries to pull it down over her taut body. Her perfect breasts are on full display, illuminated by the sunlight spilling through the curtains. Clarke’s thoughts are so loud she thinks Lexa can surely hear them.

“Oh, damn. Shit. I’m sorry.” Clarke quickly turns around, making a big show of shielding her eyes with her hand.

Lexa laughs quietly.  “Clarke. I asked you to help me. Do they try on dresses some other way where you’re from?”

Clarke drops her hand from her face, but doesn’t turn towards Lexa. She’s frozen in her place, afraid that if she looks, Lexa will see the desire in her eyes and the deep color in her blushing cheeks.

“Okay, it’s on. What do you think?”

Despite her misgivings, Clarke turns to face Lexa, her eyes slowly rising from the floor. 

“Oh. I-I think you look...incredible.” Clarke smiles with her mouth slightly open in awe.  Even without makeup and her hair in a messy bun, Lexa is a vision.  The dark red of the form fitting gown contrasts well with Lexa’s porcelain skin. Clarke feels like her face must be the same color as the dress. She wants nothing more than to hide.

Lexa looks less than pleased, her mouth in a crooked scowl.  “It’s a little tight and I don’t think I like the cut. What about the blue one?”

Clarke looks towards the rolling rack, immediately spotting the sapphire gown amongst the rest.  She examines the tag with faux intensity while Lexa pulls the red dress over her head. If Clarke focuses hard enough on the dress, perhaps her nervousness won’t betray her.

Desperate to say anything at all, Clarke acts like she knows something about fancy gowns despite never wearing one once in her life.  She’s a jeans and t-shirt girl all the way.  “Ooh. I love Gucci. This one you’ll need to step into I think. It’s got a tight waist and a zipper.” 

The intricate dress has a sexy plunging neckline and an a-line waist. The skirt has a life of its own, with flowing layers sure to flatter Lexa and a short train for a touch of extra glamour. Of course all Clarke knows is she’s about to see Lexa wearing it. She’s not sure if she’s ready. Clarke wonders what it means that she just saw Lexa naked, but is still giddy at the sight of seeing her in a beautiful dress.

Clarke hands over the Gucci in exchange for the red dress that she quickly returns to its hanger.  She stands facing the rack nervously shifting her weight from side to side, unsure of what to do or when she should turn around.

Lexa’s soft voice breaks the silence, but only barely. For a reason Clarke can’t figure out, Lexa is whispering.  “Can you help me zip it up?”

Clarke turns to face Lexa once again, greeted by her bare back as she waits patiently for Clarke’s help.  Clarke fights the urge to run her hands all over Lexa’s muscular back, memorizing every inch with her fingertips. She fights the urge to plant kisses all along Lexa’s prominent shoulder blades.  Instead, she dutifully zips the dress up, perhaps a bit slower than necessary. Clarke’s proximity makes Lexa’s breathing unsteady and a little quick.  As Clarke’s hands reach the top of the zipper, she can’t help but graze Lexa’s neck with her fingers.  Lexa shudders in a way that tells Clarke her touch was welcome – wanted even.

The sigh that escapes Lexa’s lips triggers something in Clarke. An urge that she’s been fighting since the moment she first saw Lexa.  Her emotions spill over the dam she built by necessity. Her desires feel hot like lava spilling from every part of her and she just can’t stop herself.  She grabs Lexa by the waist, and turns her around in a single motion so that their eyes meet. Before she’s able to stop herself, her hands reach for the sides of Lexa’s face, pulling her closer.

Lexa’s emerald eyes are wide, but the look in her eyes says that she needs this too.  Clarke kisses Lexa hard…harder than she intends to.

Every other time she’s been kissed, Lexa’s mind spins only the way an anxious mind can. _Am I doing this right? Did I brush my teeth? Is this a bad idea? Will this mess everything up?_ But the movement of Clarke’s lips against hers does something that nothing else ever has. It calms the storm inside her mind, leaving her only to enjoy the feeling of Clarke’s eyelashes dancing across her skin as her mouth eagerly explores Lexa’s lips.  At first, Lexa’s arms hang limply at her sides, so shocked by the force and suddenness of the kiss that she can’t will herself to move. As Clarke leans in to deepen the kiss, strands of her golden hair fall in front of her closed eyes.  Lexa gently brushes the hair away, allowing her hand to tangle in the hair behind Clarke’s neck. She grips tightly, not wanting the moment to end.

Just as Lexa begins to part Clarke’s lips with her tongue, Clarke tears herself away with a sharp breath. A single tear trails down her face. “I’m so sorry. I – I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

Everything is blurry as Clarke runs down the stairs away from Lexa, and away from her feelings. She mutters every curse word in the dictionary as she fumbles to unlock all the deadbolts and make it outside.  As she drives away, the tears finally come.

Lexa is too stunned to cry. She sits on the floor in silence, still in the sapphire dress.


	3. Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay. I had a bit of writer's block and it took some time to figure out where I wanted to go with this story.

  
**Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts. - Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.**

“Clarke, calm down. I can’t tell what the fuck you’re saying. Is everything okay?” Octavia doesn’t get an immediate response beyond a few shaky deep breaths. At least then she knows Clarke didn’t butt dial her. Clarke is infamous for butt dials.

“Clarke, honey. Just tell me you’re alright, okay? You don’t have to tell me anything else if you don’t want to.” Octavia sets down her coffee, and fiercely rubs her eyes, bracing herself for whatever bad news she about to hear from Clarke.

“I kissed her, O. I fucked up big time.” Clarke’s soft sobs are interrupted by awkward laughter – one of her telltale signs that she’s uncomfortable and unsure of herself. Clarke isn’t often anything other than confident, but on the rare occasion she feels scared or out of place, laughter is sure to come. Once she’d laughed during her Grandmother’s funeral. If looks could kill, Clarke would have died that day. Abby’s eyes bore through her like death rays as she giggled uncontrollably. Remembering how weird it is to laugh right now, Clarke clears her throat.

“Who? Who did you kiss and why are you crying about it, miss makeout queen of senior year?”

“Goddamit, it was Lexa. Of all the people.”

Octavia lets out a long slow sigh, unsure of how to respond. Over the years, Octavia has supported Clarke through reckless behavior more times than she can remember, but not once since college ended. Becoming a cop had an instant effect on Clarke. She found a new sense of purpose, learned to take things seriously, and hadn’t required lectures from Octavia since. Octavia can hardly remember how to do this anymore. But being the loyal protector she is, she tries anyway.

“Ohhhhhhh my. Wow. Are you ready to talk about it now, or should Raven and I just show up later with booze like old times?”

“No booze, I think I still need to work tomorrow…if I’m not fired anyway. Just come over and keep me company. I don’t want to be alone…Please?”  
  
When Octavia and Raven finally ring the doorbell over an hour later, Clarke is still in the same place, curled up into a tiny ball in the corner of her couch. Its almost as if she’s trying to occupy as little space as possible – making herself as physically insignificant as she felt inside.

Raven breaks the silence with a toothy grin, “So lady Casanova, how was making out with the hottest woman on the planet?” Her eyes drop guilty when Clarke fails to smile.

“I’m sorry Clarkey, I just wanted you to laugh.”

Eager to right Raven’s missteps, Octavia sits next to Clarke, seamlessly wrapping the blonde up in her arms. “Babes. Tell us what happened.” She begins delicately stroking Clarke’s wavy locks, just as she did in college every time Finn broke her friend’s heart. Clarke’s breathing slows almost immediately.

“I fucked up. I don't know what I was thinking. I was helping her try on dresses, and she just looked so beautiful. For some reason all I wanted was to be close to her. I can't explain it, and I know that sounds batshit insane. But I just felt so drawn to her, and I think she felt it too. I got overwhelmed and just kissed her. Like really kissed her. Jesus…fuck. This is bad isn't it?”

Raven throws her hands in the air, as histrionic as usual. “Holy balls Griffin, this is the greatest shit I've ever heard. I have so many questions. First things first, did she kiss back?”

Clarke nodded affirmatively, but immediately second guessed her assessment. “I mean…I think she did? I'm not sure I remember it well. I've blocked it out. I'm so fucking embarrassed.”

For the next few minutes, Raven asks a series of inappropriate questions. What did her breath smell like? Was she good at it? Did you see her naked while she was changing? Do the curtains match the drapes? Clarke steadfastly refuses to answer, and only glares in Raven’s general direction.

Octavia brings the conversation back to constructive points, as usual. “It'll be okay honey. But here's the thing you need to figure out. Do you like her like her? Or did you just let a weird moment of closeness get too far?”

“I don't know. We've gotten close in a short time and I enjoy being around her. But I mean, I can't like her. She's my boss for fucks sake. And I need this job.”

A few hugs and a lot of ice cream later, Clarke is alone again. Despite still wanting the earth to crack open and swallow her, she knows she has to text Lexa. What she doesn't know is how exactly to navigate this mess of her own making. After ten minutes of typing and deleting, she hits the send button, and throws her phone across the room where it noisily clatters to the floor. Thank God for Otter Box.

***  
For the last few hours, Lexa had contemplated calling Anya. Ultimately she decided that the shit Anya would give her far outweighed the value of any wisdom she would impart. She'd have to work through this on her own. Lexa isn't sure what to expect when she slides her thumb across her phone screen to open a text from Clarke. The brunette can't decide whether she's relieved or disappointed by what she sees.

 **Clarke Griffin (6:01 p.m.):** hi, Lexa. I sincerely want to apologize for what happened today. I understand completely if you think it best that I no longer work for you. But I assure you, nothing like this will ever happen again. I have never been so embarrassed by such unprofessional behavior. It was a very brief lapse in judgment and it meant nothing. Again, I'm so sorry. I hope we can successfully move past this.

Nothing. It meant nothing. Rationally that makes sense to Lexa, but it still stings for some reason she can't quite pinpoint. Was it nothing? It didn't feel like nothing. Lexa could still feel Clarke’s lips burning on her own. These last weeks certainly didn't feel like nothing. But if it meant nothing to Clarke, she had to respect that. After all, it was the smart thing to do. For all Lexa knows, it's a trap meant to out her to the entire world. She'd dealt with blabber mouth women in the past. Luckily they only ever wanted money, which she had plenty of. But no, she knew without a doubt that wasn't Clarke. Clarke was the girl who listened to her, remembered her coffee order, didn’t judge her nerdy taste in television, and zealously protected her privacy and safety in the time they'd been together. Knowing Clarke was likely pacing with worry, Lexa quickly types out a response. It's less formal than her usual messages. She needs Clarke to believe everything will be okay.

 **Lexa Woods (6:04 p.m.):** I’m sorry too, Clarke. We can talk more tomorrow, but in the meantime, stop feeling guilty. I kissed you too, you know… but you're right, it was nothing. Get some sleep, and I'll see you in the morning. You know I'll need you on the red carpet this weekend, and you already know how to zip up that damn dress. I can't very well get rid of you now, can I. Everything will go back to normal, Clarke.

Lexa nervously twirls her finger through her long locks, unsure what else to do with herself. When she finally falls asleep, it's no longer the kiss on her mind. She thinks of Clarke reassuringly grabbing her hand on the red carpet. Don't worry. You're safe. I'm here.

***

Clarke can hardly contain the flurry of thoughts in her mind. Lexa should fire her, or at the very least be angry with her. But instead, Lexa consoles her and tries to make her feel better because she knows Clarke blames herself for every little thing that goes wrong. Lexa knows the strict standards Clarke holds herself to, and how disappointed she is in herself. Even if Clarke hadn't said it, Lexa would have known. Lexa knows the real Clarke.

Clarke falls asleep repeating the same words over and over, as if convincing herself. Nothing. It's nothing. Nothing.

***

The next morning Clarke briefly thinks about not showing up to Lexa’s house for work. But in the end she knows she can’t bear the thought of not seeing Lexa, no matter how much her embarrassment makes her want to crawl in a hole and die. She knocks rather than letting herself in as usual, very careful to adhere to strict boundaries. Something she should have done yesterday.

Lexa opens the door with a shy smile. “Hi, Clarke. I'm glad you're here. I was afraid you wouldn't come back.”

Clarke stares intently at the girl, but before she can apologize again, she wraps Lexa in a chaste embrace. “I promised I wouldn't let anything happen to you. I intend to keep my promise, if you'll let me.” Quickly, Clarke let's go of Lexa, and stares at the floor, desperately avoiding tears that threatened to come.

Lexa pulled her inside with a firm grip on Clarke’s hand. “Get in here, I have avocado toast with your name on it.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'll get better at updating. For the longest time I couldn't think of where I wanted the story to go. That's what I get for writing without planning anything. Let me know what you think.

**I know if I can find my own way back**

**There's a life I always knew but never had**

**I'm tired of fighting things that I can't change**

**Letting me go so I can finally find my place**

 

No sound escapes Clarke's mouth other than the crunching of her breakfast as she chews. She's relieved that Lexa has food ready - this way she doesn't have to talk at all. She doesn't have to stumble through some dumbass explanation for why she suddenly launched her face at Lexa's, when she doesn't even know herself.  Her mind spins furiously as she chews, wondering how the hell to explain herself. Wondering how she can fix this. _A time machine. Too bad I don't have a time machine so I can go back and smack the shit out of myself_ , she thinks. She runs her finger along the table, tracing the wood grain from her plate to the edge of the table. Back and forth, as if she’s trying to physically erase the memory of Lexa’s soft lips from her mind.

Lexa's voice brings Clarke back from her thoughts. "Clarke, be careful. You're thinking so hard I can practically see the smoke coming out of your ears. You might injure yourself." Even though Clarke isn't meeting her eyes across the table, she can tell by Lexa's voice that she's smiling. Lexa continues, her voice a little softer this time. "It's okay, you know. Things got out of hand, but I trust you to do your job more than I'd trust someone new. For reasons I don't quite understand, I feel safe with you."

Clarke looks up at the girl across from her, noticing the warmth in her eyes. She gently clears her throat to speak, even though she still has no idea what to say. True to her usual form, she makes a joke.  

"So since you're not firing me, I guess I'm a good kisser, huh?" She winks, but not before Lexa reaches across the table to smack her arm playfully.

Lexa's shy smile slowly fades. "Clarke, can I ask you something?"

"Of course. Anything."

"Before you kissed me…did you know for sure? That I was gay, I mean? I've never been public about it."  Her eyes narrow with worry as she wonders if it's that obvious. She tries to hide it when she needs to, so much so that the lines between public Lexa and private Lexa start to blur.  Sometimes, just for a moment, even she forgets those invented tabloid romances with men aren't real.

Clarke stifles a chuckle before she notices Lexa's concern etched deeply on her face.  She immediately adopts a serious expression, hoping she hasn’t made Lexa uncomfortable. "Lex, for god's sake. Let's see....you own the L Word on DVD _and_ Bluray. You laughed uncontrollably at yourself the other day when you said you couldn't find the cute top you were looking for.  You listen to Tegan  & Sara far more than is socially acceptable for any hetero.  You screamed when Anya called to say you were invited to Ellen and Portia's HRC fundraising gala. You didn't have to say it, I know you well enough by now." Clarke laughs heartily and continues. “Oh shit I forgot the best part, that time you saw Cara Delevigne on the red carpet, you didn’t shut up about it for like three days.” 

Lexa buries her face in her hands and mumbles. "I guess you're right. I didn't really try to hide it with you. I usually shut that part down so deep inside that even I forget what’s real. For some reason I didn’t around you."

Clarke reaches across the table, placing her hand on top of Lexa’s where it’s still resting on her cheek.  "And you don't have to hide it. You're perfect the way you are, and I respect you keeping that part of yourself private if that's what you want. No one is entitled to know anything about you that you’re not comfortable sharing.  And it doesn’t change anything about you. You’re still talented, beautiful, kind, and make a mean avocado toast."  

Lexa stands up and pulls Clarke into a tight embrace. Clarke absently rubs her hand back and forth on Lexa's back, wanting to impart any sense of comfort she can.  _And there's that goddamn amazing smelling shampoo again_. Clarke scrunches her eyes closed as tight as she can, trying to shut out the growing burning sensation in her chest. 

"Thank you, Clarke. Being comfortable with you has been such a welcome change for me. I don’t feel like an actor in my own life anymore...I can just be me.”

Clarke hugs tighter. “That’s all you ever need to be, okay?”

Lexa whispers into Clarke’s neck, far closer than a normal friendly hug necessitates.  “I don't think we need to leave for the studio for the appearance until 3. How about we start where we left off on that Kennedy mini-series huh?" 

Clarke shuffles behind Lexa as she leads her towards the couch and their usual spots suspiciously close in proximity. She takes a deep breath, knowing this closeness with her boss isn’t normal. But then again, normal is overrated.

*** 

That night, Clarke sits at her glowing computer in grey sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. Her hair is in a messy bun, and she's busy frantically scanning the screen. She can't find enough information on Titus to satisfy her need to meticulously plan for every contingency.  Clarke picks up her phone and dials quickly from memory.  It rings only once before a gruff female voice answers.

"Los Angeles Police Department, this is Sargent Harper."

"Hey, Harp. I was hoping you'd be on shift today. It's Clarke. Listen, I need a favor. I've got a client with a stalker problem. Since I don't have access to the databases anymore, I need you to look him up for me - Titus Williams. I need his criminal history, known associates, address, anything you got."

Clarke nods along and rolls her eyes as Sarge gives her the typical spiel about not normally being able to give such information to civilians. But since it’s Clarke, she’ll make an exception. A few minutes after hanging up, Clarke already has an email with several PDF attachments. Once she sees Titus’s mugshot, she knows she wont be sleeping well tonight. He looks cold, detached from reality. As if his eyes are focused on something only he can see.

Included in the documents from Harper are numerous letters he’d written to Lexa, kept as evidence in his criminal case. Clarke’s eyes burn as she scans the messy handwritten text.

_Stupid bitch…_

_You belong to me…_

_Once I have you, no one else will…_

_I’ll come for you when you least expect it…_

Clarke’s shoulders shudder slightly, imagining a battered Lexa laying helplessly in the entryway of her home. She hopes to God she never has to see that in reality. That Lexa never again has to suffer at Titus’s hands.  She swears silently to herself that she’ll stop at nothing to make sure Lexa stays safe. Always.

Her phone buzzes, knocking her from her thoughts.  It’s a tweet from Lexa. Because OF COURSE Clarke set up alerts on her tweets.

 **@LexaFromTheMovies** : I am so proud of Mount Weather. I hope you all are enjoying it as much as I enjoyed making it. Honored to be nominated for my work.

Another one quickly follows. _Lexa must be awake and bored out of her mind_ , Clarke thinks. She never tweets.

 **@LexaFromTheMovies** : Side note: anyone see that new Kennedy mini-series on Netflix? So good. I had the best time watching it today.

A tiny hesitant smile forms on Clarke’s lips. _Fuck. I’m so fucked._

 

 

 

 


	5. Lexa's Plus One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my lovely betas for the invaluable help!

**“Those awful things are survivable because we are as indestructible as we believe ourselves to be.” — _Looking for Alaska_**

“Alexandra Woods. You’ve got to be KIDDING me!”

 _Oh shit, full name._ Lexa could hear the exasperation in her sister’s voice.  They _always_ FaceTime, but Lexa smartly avoided it this time.  It’s clearly a wise choice given Anya’s obvious annoyance with her request.  Lexa imagines what must be an incredulous expression on Anya’s face when she hears her let out a long, heavy sigh. A few silent beats pass before Anya speaks again. 

“Let me get this straight, Lex.  You want me to make sure your _security guard_ has a ticket to the Oscars. Next to _you_. You do realize it’s a secure venue right? Jennifer Aniston isn’t sitting next to her security guard! Meryl friggin’ Streep isn’t sitting next to her security guard. We’re talking prime seating real estate here, I’m not a fucking miracle worker!” 

“Anya, _please_.  I shouldn’t have to explain to you why I need her there. I’m uncomfortable in big crowds, and I’d feel safer if she were there.”

“Jesus.  Alright, I’ll make some calls. I’ll let you know. And if I didn’t need to be tracking this ticket down right this second, you bet your ass I’d be yelling at you for falling butt crazy in love with your EMPLOYEE.”  Lexa is sure Anya is rolling her eyes so far back they might get stuck. _In love?_ _Nah.  Clarke is a friend. A good friend._

“One, I am not in love with Clarke. Two, thank you. You’re my favorite sister.”

“I’m your _only_ sister, you loveable idiot.” A smile creeps slowly onto Lexa’s face. Of course Anya would move heaven and earth to do what she asks. She always has.

The line clicks as Anya hangs up. If Anya had an old school phone instead of a cell phone, she surely would have slammed it into the cradle.

Lexa curls up into the oversized grey chair in her living room, drawing her knees to her chest.  She rests her chin on her knees and hugs her legs tightly. She knows better than anyone that bringing someone to an awards show is a dangerous game.  That’s why she always brought Anya – so there’d be no questions, no insinuations, and no awkward magazine headlines she’d spend weeks refuting in the press.  She wasn’t even thinking of all that when she asked Anya to make sure Clarke was there with her. The only thing occupying her thoughts is the heavy feeling that she won’t make it through the night without Clarke. When she thinks about Clarke not being there, panic rises in her chest and throat and it gets harder to breathe.

 Now after talking with Anya, she’s wondering if she’s made a mistake. It may be a mistake, but the warm thought of sitting next to Clarke on the biggest night of her life overpowers any other feeling she can muster.

* * *

 

Lexa and Clarke sit in the back seat of a Lincoln town car in silence. Clarke keeps glancing out the window, confused by the direction the driver is taking them.  She doesn’t notice Lexa staring. “Lexa, what are we doing? I thought we were going to your appearance at the screening?” Clarke leans forward to speak firmly to the driver, but Lexa pulls her back before she can say anything.

“Oh, did I not tell you? That got rescheduled for tomorrow.  I must have forgotten to mention it. Oops.”

Clarke is immediately suspicious, her senses on high alert.  Lexa most certainly doesn’t forget anything, nor does she ever fail to keep Clarke apprised of the schedule.  “Lexa, seriously. Where are we going?”

Lexa reaches over and jokingly pats Clarke’s hand.  “Calm down, I promise everything is fine.  I’ve arranged for us to stop by a designer storefront today.”

“A designer st… what? Why? You already picked out your dress. I didn’t even get avocado on it, I promise!” Clarke has a look of full blown panic. In their time together, Lexa didn’t yet realize Clarke hated lacking control.  Probably because she always lets Clarke run the show. She likes it that way.  In some ways its like Clarke has replaced Anya as the force that guides Lexa’s days.

Lexa laughs and reaches in her bag, pulling out a crisp, ivory envelope, with Clarke’s name on the front. She hands it to Clarke, who turns it over several times in her hands.  “What is this?”

“Just open it, Clarke.” Lexa nods in an effort to encourage Clarke to find out what’s inside. Clarke stares at Lexa perplexed.  For a moment she’s lost in Lexa’s green eyes – the sunlight is hitting them just right, and they look like brilliant emeralds. “Come on, open it!”

Clarke snaps back to attention and gently pulls at the envelope flap, hoping she doesn’t tear it.  This envelope is too fancy to just rip into. The paper is thick, but she manages to open it neatly.  The inside of the envelope is gold and shiny, save for a smaller piece of ivory cardstock tucked inside.

Clarke’s eyes widen slowly as she pulls it out and begins to read the print on it aloud.  “Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences 89th annual Academy Awards presentation… hooooly shit, Lexa. This is a ticket to the Oscars. Why are you giving me a ticket to the Oscars?”

“I want you there with me. For safety reasons.”

“Right. For safety.” Clarke’s voice catches in her throat as she says it, barely able to mask her disappointment.

“Wait. No. That came out wrong.  What I meant is I’d love to have you there because I always have a great time with you. And I feel safest with you so I – well, I really need you there.  I can’t do this without you.”  Clarke isn’t sure how to respond.  The silence hangs heavy between them, so Lexa keeps rambling. “Annnnd if you’re going with me, you need something to wear.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, your Olivia Benson look is great, but not for Oscar night.”

“But, Lexa, I can’t– we can’t. It will cause too much trouble for you.“ 

Lexa furiously shakes her head, not letting Clarke continue.  “No. Stop. Before you say no, I’ve given this a lot of thought. I want you to come. Please?” Her green eyes meet Clarke’s icy blues, pleading in a whisper.  “Please, Clarke.”

“Okay, Lexa. I’d love to be there. With you” Clarke’s eyes drop to her hands, unsure what to do with them.

“Ohhhh thank god. First thing’s first. Dress or suit? Personally I’d like to see you in a suit, but you’ll look stunning whatever you choose.”  Lexa’s cheeks flush as she realizes she may have said too much.

Clarke laughs loudly, closing her eyes.  “Your wish is my command. Suit it is. Plus, pants are better in case I need to pull some advanced security moves and kick someone’s ass.  It won’t be good for your image if I flash the press line.”

Lexa is still laughing as she pulls Clarke into a tight hug, whispering into her hair.  “Thank you. For everything. I’m glad I’ll have you with me.”

* * *

 

Besides Clarke and Lexa, the store owner is the only other person amongst the many racks of gowns and tailored suits.  _Of course the store is closed for Lexa_ , Clarke thinks.  In truth, she’s glad it is.  If the store was open to the public both of them would be shooting frequent glances towards the door on high alert, too nervous to shop. This way, Lexa is relaxed and Clarke can focus on trying on clothes.

As the store owner scurries around selecting options for Clarke, Clarke softly elbows Lexa in the ribs. “You know, the last time one of us was changing clothes, things got weird.  Maybe I should go in the fitting room?”

“Ha ha, jerk. Go on then. I’ll send Giovanni back there with the suits when he’s grabbed them all.”

As Clarke walks away, she turns over shoulder to peek at Lexa perusing the racks. She always looks so beautiful when she’s intently focused on something. Her brows furrow together, and she gets this adorable little crinkle in her forehead.  Without even knowing, Lexa holds Clarke’s attentive gaze so long Clarke nearly walks face first into the door of the changing room. _Shit._

The first three suits earn a thumbs down – they feel a touch too masculine for Clarke’s taste, and didn’t flatter her figure.  When Clarke turns her attention to the fourth suit, she’s immediately excited by it.  It’s sharp. Chic. Sexy, even. Underneath the shiny black blazer is a corset, fastened with understated gold clasps up the middle of the front. _This is the one for sure_. Clarke is trying to fasten the clasps of the corset when she hears Giovanni excuse himself, leaving Lexa alone outside the changing room door.

“Um. Lex? I think I really might need help with this. There’s like 47 hooks and I’m barely coordinated enough for three hooks on a normal bra.”

“Oh. Um. O-okay. I’m coming in.”  Despite already warning Clarke, Lexa knocks lightly on the door before swinging it open just enough to squeeze through sideways.  Clarke is standing in front of the mirror with the capri suit pants on, having managed to hook only the first four hooks at the top of the corset. Her midriff is exposed, with the exception of her arms nervously crossed in front of her.  Lexa makes eye contact with Clarke, eager to convey that she isn’t looking where she shouldn’t.

“This will look great on you. Come here, let me help.” Lexa’s fingers dance across Clarke’s stomach, easily fastening the corset hooks one by one. Once it is entirely fastened, Clarke tugs at the top uncomfortably before grabbing the jacket to pull on. Once the jacket is buttoned, she turns back towards Lexa.

“Okay fashionista, what’s the verdict?”

Lexa doesn’t look up from Clarke’s body yet. She can’t make herself.  “Just. Wow.” Finally, her eyes trail up to meet Clarke’s.  “You look incredible.”

“Oh come on. This is nothing compared to you in the blue Gucci. I shouldn’t say this, but the vision of you in that dress is pretty much seared in my brain.”

Lexa lowers her eyes again, this time to the floor. “Is it?” Her whisper is so small, Clarke barely hears her.

Digging the hole deeper, Clarke continues to ramble nervously.  “I mean, you always look amazing, but that was something else entirely. I can’t forget it. Shit, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to make it weird, I –….”

Without warning, Lexa firmly pushes Clarke back into the changing room wall. Her voice is almost a growl.  “We don’t have to talk at all.”  Before Clarke realizes what’s happening, Lexa’s mouth is firmly on hers. The kiss is slower and more mindful than the first they shared, but somehow better. A tiny moan of surprise escapes Clarke’s lips.  Clarke can’t stop her hands from reaching for Lexa’s waist and pulling her closer. Once Lexa’s body is pressed entirely against hers, Clarke runs her fingers quickly through Lexa’s chestnut locks.  Her hair is as soft as Clarke remembers.

Lexa’s mouth moves urgently to Clarke’s neck when suddenly Giovanni clears his throat politely outside the changing room.  The women pull apart instantly, each backing to polar opposite sides of the changing room. Their wide eyes meet, as their chests heave in a desperate attempt to bring their breathing back to normal.  Lexa frantically smooths her hair and turns to exit, but not without giving Clarke a tiny grin of reassurance.

Other than the pounding of her own heart, the next sound Clarke hears is Lexa’s confident voice beyond the door.  “Yeah. We’ll take the one with the corset, Giovanni.” Lexa is silently grateful that Giovanni is a such good friend – a discreet friend.

 

* * *

Back in the town car, the blush in Clarke and Lexa’s cheeks is still fresh. They haven’t looked at each other since hurriedly leaving the shop. Neither of them is sure what to say.  After debating with herself for several minutes, Clarke settles on saying nothing.  Instead she reaches her hand across the dark leather seat toward Lexa’s. As her fingers brush Lexa’s, she looks toward the brunette silently asking permission.  As an answer, Lexa wraps her fingers tightly around Clarke’s. She exhales in relief.  Part of her expected Lexa to yank her hand away. As the streetlights steadily pass beyond the car window, Lexa’s head dips further and further toward Clarke’s shoulder.

Clarke takes shallow breaths trying not to move so much, sure that Lexa is asleep.   As the driver pulls into the driveway, Lexa sleepily turns her head up towards Clarke’s face.  “Did you really need help with those hooks?”

Clarke squeezes Lexa’s hand tightly in hers, and leans down to plant a soft kiss on Lexa’s forehead.  “Wouldn’t you like to know.”


	6. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting. I may take too long, but I promise I won't abandon the story. I like these characters too much. 
> 
> If you can't remember previous chapters, parts of this may not make sense. That's my fault for taking too long. I'm sorry! 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy. It's a shorter one to set up the big one. Next chapter is Oscar night, so I'm excited to get to it.

**“At the end of the day, it isn’t where I came from. Maybe home is somewhere I’m going and never have been before.”**   
**― Warsan Shire**

The town car’s brakes squeal slightly as the driver stops in front of Lexa’s home. Though she doesn’t say anything, Clarke is secretly annoyed. _Jesus Christ. I mean, what kind of car company sends a poorly maintained vehicle to chauffeur the world’s biggest movie star? What a safety hazard._ She quickly shakes her head at her own inner thoughts. Movie star. Sure that’s Lexa’s job – but that isn’t who she is. It’s not why Clarke likes her. It has nothing to do with what makes Lexa a good person. She tells herself never to refer to Lexa that way again. _That’s not what she is to you. She’s so much more._

Normally, Clarke would escort Lexa to the door and head home once she is safely locked inside. She has no expectations of doing anything different tonight. But once they reach the front door, she knows by the look on Lexa’s face that tonight will be different. Hell, everything is different. Before Clarke can say goodnight and turn to walk away, Lexa grabs her hand.

“I was just wondering if we could talk some tonight. Just talk. No funny business.”

“Daaaamn. How quickly we go from ‘we don’t have to talk at all’ to ‘just talk, no funny business.’” _Clarke, you epic dumbass now is NOT the time for stupid jokes._ “I’m – fuck. I’m sorry. What I mean is, of course I’d love to talk.”

Lexa is laughing, which Clarke is extremely grateful for. She wonders if therapy will do the trick and rid her of her incessant need to deflect with humor. Maybe one day she’ll actually try it. She could probably use it. _There Lexa goes, laughing with her eyes closed again. God she’s perfect._

“Very funny Clarke. You’re lucky I enjoy the fact that you’re such a smartass.” As Lexa pushes the door open, the alarm triggers. She hesitates briefly enough for Clarke to step forward and enter the disarm code herself – Anya’s birthday. She’s been meaning to talk to Lexa about how stupid and obvious that is. She’ll make her change it to something more secure tomorrow.

When the beeping stops, Clarke turns to Lexa expectantly, unsure where she should go and unwilling to assume.

“Would you like a drink, Clarke? You are off the clock, and I have the beer you like.”

“Yes please. But only if you’re having one too.”

Lexa rolls her eyes playfully. “Of course I am. Please, have a seat. I really do want to talk.” She raises her eyebrows and tilts her head toward the couch to direct Clarke towards it. Though she’d be loathe to admit it, Clarke would rather talk there. They’re long overdue for some honest communication and she doesn’t trust them to accomplish that upstairs. The simmering attraction between them has gone undiscussed for long enough it has boiled over twice and both of them behaved in ways that probably aren’t the healthiest start to any kind of relationship. That needs to stop now. They need to name what it is that’s happening here. Or decide that nothing is happening.  They need to be on the same page. So far, they haven’t even been on the same book.

Clarke is nervously pulling at the fringe of Lexa’s favorite throw blanket. She’s not the best at talking about feelings. She never has been. In fact, probably the most open she’s ever been was the discussion with Lexa at Trikru. About her father. More specifically, losing him. For the longest time she’s kept anything about her dad bottled deep inside. If she doesn’t talk about it, it’s easier to pretend it never happened.  But it felt good to talk about it with Lexa. It was obvious she cared and was deeply interested in what Clarke had to say. She heard her, acknowledged her feelings, and remembered the things she said. Lexa isn’t like everyone else. In that moment, pulling on the blanket threads, she decides the walls she’s kept around her head and heart aren’t meant for Lexa Woods.

The clinking of frosted beer mugs brings Clarke back from her thoughts. Lexa is now standing over her, holding out a beer. Clarke takes it with one hand, and helps guide Lexa to the spot next to her on the couch with the other.

“So. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Lexa isn’t looking at Clarke when she starts to talk. She can’t. If she looks at her, she may not get it out.

“I want to be honest with you Clarke. That day. That text. When I said the kiss was nothing, I lied. I didn’t mean it. What I _should_ have said was, I hadn’t stopped thinking about it since the second you left. That I had spent weeks wondering what it would feel like to kiss you. That I love being around you. You make me feel safe, sure. But that’s not it really. You’re the only person I’ve met since my career took off that has seen me. Really seen me. You don’t treat me like I’m some sort of product to sell or thing to show off. At first I couldn’t quite figure out what it was about you that made me so glad to spend time with you. But it’s all those things. And you’re funny. Unassuming. Kind. You don’t care about money, or meeting famous people. You’re just you. And I like you. And I should have said something but I convinced myself it wasn’t a good idea to get involved with an employee – with you. I’m so sorry. The way I acted in the fitting room was…”

“Shhhh stop”

“What? I…”

“Fire me. And if you won’t fire me, I quit.”

Lexa’s eyes are huge. That is not the answer she was expecting. She’s so shocked she can’t manage to form any words.

“Okay well, you haven’t fired me yet. So I quit. If that’s what it takes to make you comfortable with this – with us – then I quit. The truth is, every day that I’ve spent here with you has been a breath of fresh air. I don’t need a paycheck to want to be here with you. I want to be here and get to know you even more. I want to hear your life story. Shit, I even want to tell you mine. I want to take you out to dinner. Not some expensive bullshit place, but somewhere I can just be with you and see you happy and comfortable. I want you to meet Raven and Octavia even though they’ll most likely embarrass the shit out of me. I know I’m not exactly a catch but I think we’re….”

“Clarke, shut up. You’re not fired, and you’re not quitting. I don’t trust anyone, but I do trust you. Can you at least stay on for now? I promise any time the situation becomes untenable we can revisit the issue. And you are a catch. You’re perfect. Now when is this dinner you speak of?”

Clarke smiles. Sure, dating her employer isn’t ideal. But she’d do anything for Lexa. She knew it the first day they met, standing on that red carpet. When she saw the vulnerable yet incredible woman underneath the façade.

“Hmmm. Do you think your buddy Lincoln has a table for us at Trikru?”

“Absolutely. But I have something for you first.”

_Shit. A gift._ Clarke doesn’t want anything from Lexa. That’s not why she’s here, baring her soul on a couch that costs more than a year’s worth of her rent. She needs Lexa to know that. She almost launches into a monologue forbidding any and all gifts, but the object in Lexa’s hand makes Clarke cover her mouth with her hand in surprise.

“I know you said the anniversary of your father’s passing is coming up soon. I’m sorry if this is too much to deal with, and I understand if you don’t want it.” Her voice fades, suddenly deeply unsure of her gesture. She’s sure she’s made a grave mistake. She almost hides the gift behind her back. But it’s too late

Clarke reaches and takes the gift from Lexa’s outstretched hand. Ice Nation. A framed script from Ice Nation. With a handwritten inscription.

_Dear Clarke,_

_I wish I could have met the great man who loved this film so much. With a daughter like you, I know I would have loved him. I hope one day you can watch this again and remember the good times you had  together as a family. I’m glad to have been a part of it, however small._

_-Lexa_

For a moment, Clarke says nothing. Tears are welling up in her eyes.

“Oh God. I’m so sorry. It’s too much…”

Before Lexa can finish, she’s nearly bowled over. Clarke hugs her with such force she can hardly breathe.

Clarke’s words are muffled, her face buried in Lexa’s long hair. “It’s the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you.”

Clarke withdraws from the embrace, wiping her tears away quickly.

“Before we go to dinner, I want to ask you something I should have asked you the first time. Lexa, may I kiss you?”

Lexa nods eagerly, trying not to giggle. This time, they both move forward to close the space between them. Clarke places her hand on Lexa’s cheek, and takes her in silently for a moment. Both are wearing the same goofy, excited smile. Both lean in to greet each other’s lips. The kiss this time is soft and purposeful – a conscious effort to savor the taste and feel of each other, unlike the first two times. Lexa’s hands snake around from Clarke’s shoulders to her hair, running her fingers through it lightly.

Clarke pulls away slowly, a smile donning her kiss swollen lips. “We should go. It’s time for dinner and I have some serious questions about our Oscar date. It is a date right?”

Lexa’s answer comes in the form of another kiss.


End file.
